


learning to be

by talithan



Category: Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talithan/pseuds/talithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yashiro and Doumeki try to understand each other. Sometimes it doesn't work, and sometimes it does. (Or: Five times Yashiro and Doumeki have sex. Or: Four times Yashiro comes first and one time Doumeki does. Or: Three times Doumeki tries to give Yashiro what he wants, one time he does, and one time it goes the other way around. Or: A character study masquerading as PWP, or possibly a PWP masquerading as a character study, who can even tell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fifty thousand years ago (in fandom years) i had a 'five times' idea for yashiro and doumeki mapping out a bunch of ways it _doesn't_ happen. then doumeki started blowing yashiro left and right and i put the fic on the back burner. here it is in a new and improved form, following the development of their future established relationship...through a crap ton of sex. 
> 
> prompts on tumblr from konekat (asking for literally anything saezuru), an anon (doumeki/yashiro+fingering), and artemisrisen (yashiro riding doumeki for the first time, and riding for the first time in general) were incorporated into this. many thanks to the kind comments on parts 1 and 2 on tumblr that gave me the motivation to write this whole thing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakin' it in to chapters for the sake of ~structure~ :^)

Yashiro has had sex with more straight men than he could ever hope to count. Straight men are easy. His tried-and-true techniques can make them hate him and want to fuck him at the same time; he knows exactly what to do to bring just the right mix of lust and disgust to the surface.

After all the straight men he's been fucked by over the years, he knows what to expect from them. Oral's more popular than anal. Most of them prefer to fuck him from behind. Missionary's a little more popular if he's tied up. They like to fuck him with minimal prep, or none at all. Kissing's off the table unless he's trying to bait them.

Yashiro's on his back with Doumeki's fingers in his ass and his cock in Doumeki's mouth when it occurs to him that Doumeki probably isn't a straight man. 

"I'm close," he says, and his hands clench into fists in the sheets.

Doumeki doesn't hear him, or ignores him, or does hear him and responds not by removing his mouth but by crooking his fingers, or he just happens to crook his fingers at that moment—either way, Yashiro releases the sheets and his hands fly to Doumeki's head instead.

"Doumeki—I'm gonna—"

The finger-crooking is definitely a response. He does it again and swallows Yashiro's cock down just a bit further and groans or hums or _something_ that sends vibrations right to Yashiro's core, and there's pressure on his perineum, how does Doumeki know to—

Everything's bright and hazy, and Doumeki doesn't stop, not until Yashiro's hips still and he uncurls his fingers in Doumeki's hair. When Doumeki does pull off, it's with a few final licks. Like a dog. He's swallowed again, the idiot.

Yashiro lifts his head off the pillow just enough to make proper eye contact. Sure enough, Doumeki's already looking at him, an inscrutable gaze that makes Yashiro feel more naked than he already is. He drops his head back onto the pillow and nudges at Doumeki's shoulder with his foot.

"Talk to me," he says, as commandingly as he can muster after an orgasm of that caliber.

"Talk?" Doumeki repeats.

"Just...say something."

Doumeki's fingers are still in his ass. He's kneeling there on the bed, fully clothed, with two fingers stuck up a naked Yashiro's ass. He just swallowed Yashiro's come.

In a soft voice, Doumeki says, "You look beautiful, Boss."

What a fuckin' anomaly.

Yashiro closes his eyes and sighs.

"I don't know what else to say," Doumeki says eventually.

"Whatever you want," Yashiro says. He considers wiggling his hips, but that probably wouldn't work on Doumeki. Nothing works on Doumeki, not the way he means it to.

"I want—I want you to come."

Yashiro looks down at him without lifting his head. "I just came."

Doumeki flushes. He's looking at Yashiro's cock, which hasn't flagged at all, admittedly. "Again," he says.

"You wanna fuck me?"

Doumeki takes a moment to answer, which is ridiculous, because that should be a yes-or-no question and the answer should be _yes_.

Doumeki says, "I thought I might—try it like this." He pushes in with his fingers, just slightly.

Yashiro props himself up on his elbows and stares down at Doumeki. He's clearly pitching a tent in his trousers. He's rolled up his sleeves but hasn't taken off his tie, and his mouth is red from use.

"Go for it," Yashiro says. Surrendering.

Doumeki leans in and presses a quick kiss to Yashiro's lips; when he straightens he's flushed even darker than before. Yashiro feels the ludicrous urge to cover his face. Instead, he pushes forward onto Doumeki's fingers.

Doumeki looks between his legs like he's trying to solve a puzzle, if anyone ever did that with a massive boner and eyes blown black. His left hand traces patterns along Yashiro's inner thigh while his right starts a steady rhythm of short thrusts. Then there's pressure on his perineum again; it's Doumeki's thumb, rocking slightly with the movement of his wrist. 

He gasps, and Doumeki’s eyes immediately moves to catch his. Slowly, deliberately, Doumeki’s fingertips brush against his prostate.

"What the fuck," Yashiro whispers, almost unconsciously.

Looking right into his eyes, Doumeki draws tiny circles over his prostate and presses his thumb to his perineum in a matching rhythm. As though understanding the tight heat this sends through Yashiro’s body—though _how could he possibly_ —he rubs soothingly over Yashiro’s stomach and chest, down to his thighs, and up again. 

"Are you trying to kill me," Yashiro says, or tries to.

His arms shake and he lets himself drop onto the pillow; his hands move automatically to clutch at Doumeki’s forearms, feeling the movement without guiding it. What feels like a scream is pushing at his throat. And then Doumeki _presses_ , and his whole body jerks, and he does scream, and Doumeki holds the base of his cock in a firm grip, and he can’t come, and Doumeki presses again, and again, and his hand moves in one endless stroke, and Yashiro is still screaming.

As he comes down he’s aware of his fingers clenching so hard into Doumeki’s arms that his knuckles hurt. Releases them. Unclenches his shoulders, his thighs.

Doumeki, motionless, watches him with a glassy stare.

Yashiro shifts his legs and nudges his heels against Doumeki’s ass.

"Touch yourself," he says.

It doesn’t take long. From the looks of it, it’s frankly astounding that Doumeki hadn’t come in his pants already. Yashiro wraps his legs tighter to pull Doumeki closer, so that when he comes, he’s kneeling over Yashiro with his other hand braced against the mattress. The second Yashiro feels the wet heat on his stomach, he pulls Doumeki in for a graceless, open-mouthed kiss. It turns into several, until Doumeki lowers himself to lay beside Yashiro, their legs tangling together.

Yashiro rolls onto his side and curls against Doumeki, ignoring the come he’s undoubtedly smearing on Doumeki’s clothes. He’s pretty sure Doumeki shot all over his tie anyway, so he figures the damage is done.

He feels gentle fingers in his hair, a hand warm on his hip. 

"Let me get a wash cloth," Doumeki says, making no move to sit up.

Yashiro shakes his head against Doumeki’s chest. "Later," he says.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter how many times Doumeki does it, kissing his boss feels illicit. Like he's sneaking something he shouldn't and he's moments from getting caught. Except that Yashiro knows it's happening, clearly, so that doesn't make any sense. Yashiro is opening his mouth under Doumeki's and pressing their bodies together and fisting his hands in Doumeki's shirt and Doumeki does not have to feel guilty about this. He's allowed to touch. He can run his fingers through Yashiro's hair as much as he likes, or thumb over the delicate skin behind his ear, or even—squeeze his ass, if he wants. Maybe when Yashiro isn't pressed up against the wall.

Yashiro tugs at Doumeki's lower lip with his teeth, and Doumeki pushes more firmly against him. The friction makes the silky fabric of Yashiro's robe slide further open, and the skin it reveals makes Doumeki need to be closer, to bring his hips in line with Yashiro's and _move_ , and then Yashiro is bringing a leg up and Doumeki feels the insistent press of his thigh—

Doumeki stops. Breathes.

"What are you going to do to me?" Yashiro's breath is hot on his neck; his fingers trace down Doumeki's sides lightly, in a way that almost tickles.

Doumeki inhales, exhales; he is aware of the slight scent of citrus from Yashiro's shampoo, the robe slipping off his shoulder, his hard cock between their bodies. And his own, also hard.

"Can I—?" he starts to say, but Yashiro says, "No."

"No," Doumeki repeats, carefully empty of tone.

"Don't ask me," Yashiro says. "That's the point."

"The point," Doumeki repeats.

"Use me," Yashiro says, not teasing. Insistent.

Doumeki hoists him off the wall, walks the few steps to the sofa, and deposits him heavily on the cushions. He thinks he sees a flash of a smile on Yashiro’s face, quickly stifled. Yashiro lets the belt of his robe fall loose, his robe fall open. All that skin. And Doumeki can—feel it.

He lowers himself to his knees and lets his hands run where he wants. Over Yashiro's upper thighs, and down his legs and around to his firm calves. Back up, to the more sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Up his hips, abdomen, chest; down his sides, pushing the robe off as much as he can without lifting Yashiro off the sofa. Yashiro grunts softly and tilts his hips, which Doumeki takes as an invitation to lean in and close his mouth over the head of Yashiro's cock.

This feels more natural every time he does it. He finds he's able to focus more and not get as caught up in technique, or in mimicking what Yashiro and others have done to him. He likes the weight of Yashiro's cock in his mouth, how hot it gets. He likes being able to breathe Yashiro in, though right now he smells and tastes freshly washed. He likes hearing the sounds Yashiro makes and knowing they're for him. He likes how purposeful the act feels. 

He knows he’s getting better because Yashiro always holds his head now, tightens his fingers in Doumeki’s hair, like he can’t help it. 

And then the grip changes, and Yashiro is pulling Doumeki's head up and off. 

"Come on, stupid," he's saying, though Doumeki mostly hears the tight, breathy quality of his voice. "You're supposed to be doing what _you_ want."

Doumeki hears: _This is what_ I _want_. He brings his head down and bites gently at Yashiro's inner thigh. Yashiro jolts and opens his legs a little wider; at the second bite he gasps and his heels dig into Doumeki's back. Doumeki cups Yashiro's balls with his left hand and pushes up against the back of Yashiro's thigh with his right, giving himself more space to explore with lips and tongue and teeth.

He responds the way he does when Doumeki sucks his cock, but differently, like instead of straining to contain the feeling he's straining to feel more of it. Doumeki presses two fingers against the skin behind his balls and licks a stripe down the juncture of his thigh. At the noise Yashiro makes, he sucks hard at the same spot, and when he lifts his mouth away the skin there is red.

"Boss—" he starts to say, looking up to find Yashiro's eyes. But Yashiro isn't looking at him. His eyes are closed, his mouth hangs open, and he's holding his own thighs open against his chest, spreading for him. 

Doumeki's thoughts blur into a haze, save for one. He circles Yashiro's hole with his thumb. Presses against it. Yashiro moans and bends himself somehow further. 

Doumeki can see the strain in his limbs and the forced angle of his spine. He reaches to loosen Yashiro's grip where his fingers dig into the backs of his thighs.

His voice comes out ragged. "Could you—turn over for me, please?"

Yashiro lets out a small whine and rolls onto his stomach so quickly that Doumeki, so taken by the sight, almost forgets what he wanted. 

"Can you reach for a pillow for me?" Doumeki asks.

Yashiro doesn't scold him for his politeness this time, either, just grabs the closest throw pillow and tosses it backwards at Doumeki. Doumeki carefully repositions him, placing the pillow under his hips and smoothing out the robe, with its gentler texture, from where it bunched up before, so it covers the couch and pillow underneath Yashiro.

"Doumeki," Yashiro says, rough-voiced and urgent.

Doumeki runs his hands up Yashiro's thighs to his ass, spreads him open. He leans in and, like a kiss, brings his lips and tongue to his hole.

It's different from a blow job. Stranger, in a way, but Yashiro's moans are louder and more desperate, and he presses back into Doumeki's face more insistently. There's a different satisfaction in feeling Yashiro's body start to open for him like this. When Yashiro's fingers come to grip his hair he feels a rare sort of pride.

Doumeki lifts his head away. His whole body throbs at the responding long whine and tightening fingers.

"Hold yourself open for me," he says, so that he can use his hands. "Please."

Yashiro's hands come immediately to replace Doumeki's on his cheeks, and Doumeki moves to touch the sensitive skin between his legs again, press behind his balls as he laps at his hole. He's just loose enough now that Doumeki can fuck him with his tongue in smooth strokes. Doumeki wants to see how far he can take it, but his jaw is starting to ache.

It's easy to push one finger in, then two; Yashiro likes it without lube. Doumeki does it slowly anyway, wanting the stretch to be easy, needing Yashiro's sounds to be of pleasure and pleasure alone. Yashiro's fingers are pressing hard enough to bruise. Doumeki bites at the flesh of his ass, the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades. Nuzzles the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to fuck you," Doumeki says.

Yashiro shudders and presses back on his fingers. Doumeki pulls them out and rolls Yashiro onto his back. His face is flushed, his cock is dripping, and when he brings his legs up to hook around Doumeki's waist, Doumeki can see that there are red marks blooming into bruises all over his thighs. He grabs vaguely at Doumeki's belt, not managing to undo the buckle.

"Lube," Doumeki tells him, knowing he keeps a bottle here in the living room somewhere. By the time he has his pants and boxers down and the condom from his back pocket unrolled down his cock, Yashiro has produced it and slathers it on sloppily.

"Come on," Yashiro says, breathless. "Come on."

Doumeki kisses him, open-mouthed and messy. Yashiro is pulling at his shirt and gripping his hair; Doumeki can feel the lube still on that hand. 

"Doumeki," Yashiro says.

Doumeki feels with his thumb and lines up the head of his cock with Yashiro's hole. He watches Yashiro's jaw go slack, his eyes lose focus, his head roll back, as Doumeki pushes inside. 

"Boss," he says, when his hips are fitted against Yashiro's. 

Doumeki kisses him long and deep, keeps kissing him as he starts to move in slow thrusts. Yashiro has shoved his shirt halfway up his torso and moves his hands over the skin of his back, rocking with him and meeting each thrust. He digs his fingers in and Doumeki moves faster, rougher. The heat is overwhelming, building inside and out, collecting in the heavy air. Yashiro's heels press into the small of his back. 

"I want you to come like this," Doumeki says, needing that look in Yashiro's eyes. "Come with me fucking you. Come on my cock."

His mind is too blissed-out to feel shame at this. His awareness is limited to tight heat, grasping fingers, the squeeze of Yashiro's thighs—the barest brush of Yashiro's cock against his stomach with each press forwards. 

"There," Yashiro gasps. "Right—"

Doumeki drives forward, again and again, and then Yashiro is screaming and shaking through his climax. Doumeki fucks him through it, keeps going until he hears an unsteady, "Pull out, Doumeki, pull out—"

Yashiro strips the condom off quickly and reaches up to hold Doumeki firmly with both hands, thumbs framing his jaw and fingers splayed down either side of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, but Doumeki knows what he wants; he jerks himself off in a few efficient strokes, holding Yashiro’s gaze as he finishes, his come joining Yashiro’s own on his stomach and chest. 

He holds himself there for a moment, just watching Yashiro’s breathing even out. Eventually, he drops down to kneel again, and lets his upper body fall too, leaning forward to rest his face against Yashiro’s hip and his arms around Yashiro’s thighs.

"I can't believe you ate me out," Yashiro says after a while. "Dumbass. When will you to learn to be selfish?" Yashiro asks, though he doesn’t sound at all put out. Fucked out, maybe.

 _When you do_ , Doumeki thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes it's like Doumeki forgets his dick works. Yashiro isn't _unsatisfied_ , exactly. He gets off a stupid number of times per day, in fact. But sometimes—like when Doumeki's heavy on top of him and his lips are on the verge of going numb and he can feel him hard against his thigh—he can't help wondering why the hell he isn't currently getting fucked right in half. 

He'd ask, even, except that Doumeki's got his tongue in his mouth, and he's feeling a bit lightheaded. 

It's just—well. It'd be one thing if Doumeki was having trouble getting it up, but he's been hard for a good fifteen minutes at least. And he's kissing with a great deal of... _fervor_. He's interested. But, for whatever reason, has made no move to get his cock out. Or undress either of them at all. Or even get some fully-dressed dry humping going. 

"Doumeki," Yashiro tries to say, though it doesn't come out quite right, what with the tongue problem. 

Doumeki extracts his tongue and pulls away a little. "Boss," he says. 

He stares down at Yashiro with such intensity that Yashiro forgets his objections; he can't think of a single good reason to be doing anything other than letting Doumeki kiss him into putty.

"Is it good?" Doumeki asks.

Yashiro hooks two fingers around his tie and pulls him in for more. Doumeki sighs into it and Yashiro's chest feels hot.

He loosens Doumeki's tie just enough to get at his top button, then the next, and the next. Doumeki's skin is warm under his fingers. His other hand pulls the hem of Doumeki's shirt out from his waistband and slides under it to the skin of his side, his back.

It's good. It's _great_. Doumeki kisses with more focus and passion than other men fuck. It's stupid to think Doumeki not fucking him means he doesn't—that it means anything other than that he wants to do _this_.

Doumeki's hands are in his hair, along his neck, his jaw, on his cheeks, his ear, at his pulse. He wants them on his body. He wants skin on skin, hips to hips. He wants Doumeki to eat him alive. He wants Doumeki to want to eat him alive.

Doumeki's mouth moves to his neck and Yashiro whimpers at the separation, then groans at the scrape of Doumeki's teeth. He clutches at Doumeki's back, grinds up against him.

"Please," he gasps.

And then Doumeki's hands are in his shirt, working it open and off, and he's matching Yashiro's movements, letting Yashiro hump against his thigh. 

Yashiro says it again: " _Please_."

"Boss," Doumeki whispers. His arms are wrapped around Yashiro now; one of his hands palms at his ass. Yashiro feels like he's dissolving.

"Boss," Doumeki says again, like he's waiting to be told what to do.

"I—" Yashiro starts, but then Doumeki has a hand between their bodies and is palming Yashiro's cock through his pants, and all he can manage is a low whine.

It takes Doumeki too long to get his pants open, though that's probably Yashiro's fault for not being able to keep his hips still—but then, that's Doumeki's fault for getting him so riled up. _Finally_ , Doumeki wraps his hand around Yashiro's cock. Yashiro whimpers.

"Good?" Doumeki asks, his other hand rubbing over Yashiro's chest.

Yashiro can only dig his nails into Doumeki's shoulders in response. Doumeki comes down and mouths at Yashiro's earlobe and down to his pulse. Yashiro feels his cock against his knee and presses up into it.

"You," he manages to say. 

Doumeki releases him, just for a second. Much more quickly than Yashiro's, Doumeki's pants are halfway down his thighs. And then—holy _fuck_ —the length of Doumeki's cock is along Yashiro's own, and Doumeki's hand is moving over them both. 

Yashiro looks down between their bodies and almost comes at the sight—the tight muscles of Doumeki's abdomen, the strength in his arms, that huge red cock against his. Yashiro wraps his thighs more tightly around Doumeki and moves his hips into the hot friction between them.

"Good," he gasps. "So good, you're so good—"

His whole body arches, his head rolling back, and Doumeki's teeth are on his throat, and the words keep coming, _yes, so good, so good, more, yes_ —

He comes and Doumeki keeps moving, carries him through it, until he's wrung out and shaking, and then there's another pulse but it's Doumeki now, Doumeki groaning, his mouth pressed to Yashiro's neck, his shoulders trembling under Yashiro's hands.

Yashiro feels sticky and languid and satisfied. "You didn't even fuck me," he says aloud, laughing.

Doumeki peels his face off Yashiro's skin and looks down at him with concern. "Did you want—"

"It was good, stupid. Didn't you hear me?"

Doumeki studies him for a moment as though trying to confirm that Yashiro did indeed sincerely enjoy that orgasm. Something gives him his answer, it seems, because his expression neutralizes and he sits up, busying himself with cleanup. Lift his loosened tie over his head. Take his shirt the rest of the way off and, for lack of a better option, ball it up and wipe them both down with it. Extract Yashiro's shirt from where it's bunched up under him and caught on his arm. Pull Yashiro's pants off from where they're still hanging off his left leg. Tug his own pants and boxers up and do up the fastenings.

"Do you want to take a bath?" Doumeki asks.

Yashiro looks up at him, at the broad chest, the scratched-up shoulders, the thick thighs under Yashiro's splayed legs, the dark eyes fixed on Yashiro with singular focus.

"Only if you come in with me."


	4. Chapter 4

Doumeki isn't good at talking. He tries to make up for this by doing, but sometimes he does that wrong too.

Yashiro is very good at talking, and at doing, but sometimes what he says and what he does are at odds with each other. Right now he's curled against Doumeki's side with his hand on his chest and a leg draped over him, and his words are low and sweet. The words, though—

"You could fuck my face," Yashiro is saying. "Make me gag on your cock. Pull out right before you finish and then shoot all over me."

Doumeki is pretty sure he doesn't mean that. When he uses his mouth he likes Doumeki to sit still while he sets the pace. 

"Or eat me open until I'm dripping, until I'm wide open and wet for that giant cock, and fuck me right up to the edge—and _then_ pull out and come all over me, and make me beg for you to finish me off."

He says it all so casually. They aren't even naked. Yashiro's half-hard at most, and Doumeki not at all. Doumeki can barely manage to say sexual things during sex. Yashiro seems fine with his silence, though. Doumeki strokes his hair, and he keeps talking.

"Mmm, or you could tie my hands behind my back and do me on my knees with my ass in the air. Press my face into the mattress and—no, the floor, do me on the—"

"No," Doumeki says, almost catching himself off guard.

Yashiro laughs, one short breath. "No? Not the floor? Okay, fuck me into the mattress, then."

There's the faintest hint of irritation in his voice. This would normally give Doumeki pause, but he's feeling irritated too. 

"No, I—not the floor. I meant—I won't tie you up."

Yashiro sits up a little, propping up on his forearm to look down at Doumeki. Doumeki's hand drops out of his hair. 

"Too demeaning, is it? Don't want to see me lower myself like that? Don't want to be reminded of the countless times I've been bound and used like a piece of garbage?"

"That isn't—" He clenches his jaw and looks up at the ceiling.

Yashiro's voice is softer when he speaks next. "I'm not telling you to force me, idiot. I _like_ it."

"I like it when you touch me," Doumeki says. "When we..." He doesn't know how to express it, so he doesn't. He thinks it might have been better not to say it at all. 

Yashiro is silent, so Doumeki looks at him. His lips are parted and his cheeks are pink. Doumeki's throat feels dry.

"It'd be hot," Yashiro says eventually. Then: "What else do you like?"

Doumeki can feel himself flushing. "I—" He pauses, wets his lips. "I like your voice."

"Yeah?"

"I like when you say my name. And—the sounds you make. When you climax. I like—I like to see the look on your face and know I put it there."

The air is changing; Yashiro's eyes are dark and intent. The casual weight of his hand on Doumeki's chest feels lighter, like a caress.

"You like having me under you," Yashiro says, and his voice is different.

"Yes."

"You like making me scream."

Doumeki feels tight and warm all over. "Yes." He wants to kiss him, but Yashiro is looking at him with anticipation of something else. He swallows hard. "You like being under me."

"Yes," Yashiro breathes.

Doumeki moves then, rolls their bodies so Yashiro is pressed flat against the mattress beneath him. He can feel Yashiro already getting hard, moving his hips up into Doumeki's abdomen. He tugs at Doumeki's t-shirt; Doumeki pulls it off over his head and then makes quick work of Yashiro's.

Yashiro's hands are on him, just like he likes. He grabs Yashiro's wrists and holds them down on the mattress.

"What if," he starts, "instead of tying you up, I—"

Yashiro shivers, arches up.

"Like this," Doumeki says, and tightens his grip. "Or—from behind?"

Yashiro's response is worth it. "Yes," he says, "oh, _yes_."

They separate long enough for Yashiro to shimmy out of his underwear and turn over, and for Doumeki to grab lube and a condom from the bedside table. And then he's kneeling behind Yashiro and looking down at the white skin of his back, his spread legs. 

Doumeki says, "Are you comfortable?" 

Yashiro laughs. "I think you're missing the point."

"I just meant—" He moves forward, bent over Yashiro's body, and crosses Yashiro's wrists so he can hold them both in his left hand. "Since you won't be able to move."

He hears a sound like a sigh, and Yashiro presses back against his hips. "I'm good," Yashiro says. "Give it to me."

Doumeki brings the first two fingers of his free hand to Yashiro's mouth and Yashiro sucks on them readily. Once they're good and wet, Doumeki moves them to his hole and starts to work him open. Yashiro is pliant under him, arching with the movement of Doumeki's fingers. And he's—vocal. Doumeki almost doesn't mind not being able to see his face.

He presses his lips to Yashiro's nape, the side of his neck, the skin behind his ear. Tugs at his earlobe with his teeth and sucks a mark at the base of his jaw. Yashiro lets out little sighs at each one, and every press of Doumeki's fingers. Doumeki squeezes his left hand, just a little, and Yashiro moans long and low. 

"Doumeki," he gasps. "Doumeki—"

Doumeki bends close over him, chest to back. "Boss," he says.

" _Doumeki_."

Doumeki can't help groaning into Yashiro's shoulder. "Don't—don't move," he says, hoping it's the right thing to say, as he pulls his fingers out and releases Yashiro's wrists.

His fingers shake on the condom wrapper, but he manages to get it on and lube himself up, and then he's got both hands on Yashiro's ass and, in one long slide, is sinking in.

Yashiro's body is pulled taut and straining towards him. He's wrapped his fingers around his own wrists; Doumeki can see his nails digging in. He loosens Yashiro's fingers and separates his hands, holding each of them in his own and pressing them down on either side of his shoulders. He watches the muscles in Yashiro's back tighten and relax, watches him stretch out his spine as he pushes back onto Doumeki. Held down like he is, he doesn't have the leverage to properly fuck himself on his cock. Doumeki watches him try.

"Please— _please_ —"

Doumeki threads his fingers between Yashiro's and holds him tight. He lets his body take over and slams into Yashiro with everything he has, needing every sound this tears from Yashiro's throat. The sensations blur; Yashiro's skin on his, the impossible heat, words that register as only sound.

Then Yashiro's shoulders are shaking in a familiar way, and Doumeki reaches down to close his hand around his cock and take him all the way there, feels the hot pulse of it, hears Yashiro's hoarse screams.

Yashiro grabs that hand and holds it firm on the bed. "Inside," he's saying, "come inside—"

Doumeki obeys. Just a few more thrusts and he's coming hard, biting down on Yashiro's shoulder and clenching his fingers until they ache.

Hazily, he's aware of angling to the side and keeping his weight off Yashiro as he lets himself fall onto the bed. Yashiro reaches behind and holds the base of his cock as he eases it out of his ass. He rolls onto his back and stretches out languidly. 

There's a broad grin on his face as he says, "I'm gonna feel that for days."

After what they just did, it's silly for Doumeki to flush like he does. He can't help it, just like he can't help pulling Yashiro close and kissing him slow and deep.


	5. Chapter 5

Yashiro wakes up first. He always wakes up first. No matter when he falls asleep, his body has him up when the sun rises, and from there it just depends on how long he wants to lie there putting it off. This morning his bladder insists he get up immediately, so he slips his robe over his shoulders and goes about his business. Doumeki, heavy sleeper that he is, shows no signs of disturbance.

After a trip to the bathroom, a cigarette, and a bottle of iced coffee from the kitchen, Yashiro comes back to sit at the edge of the bed. Doumeki lies on his side, his right arm curled under the pillow, his left hand extended to where Yashiro lay before. 

Yashiro reaches out to trace a path from that wrist up to his shoulder, along the lines of his chest, his neck, his cheek. He lowers himself down to lie facing him, for a moment, just looking. He touches Doumeki's brow, relaxed in sleep. Follows the shape of his jaw with his thumb. He's become so accustomed to the way Doumeki looks at him that it's odd to see his features like this.

He leans in. Kisses his forehead, his cheek, his neck. Breathes him in.

Doumeki shifts slightly. His hand rises to Yashiro's shoulder. "Boss?"

Yashiro kisses him. Doumeki's breath is stale from sleep, but he can't bring himself to care; he opens his mouth into it, welcomes the slick slide of his tongue.

Doumeki lets out a soft groan and rolls onto his back, pulling Yashiro with him, so he's half-sprawled on top of him, legs tangled, hands to chest. Doumeki tugs the robe off and tosses it elsewhere. His hands run over Yashiro's back, his thighs, his ass. He brings their hips in line and they grind together.

He's so loose and languid in the morning. Yashiro loves it. Still careful, but not as tense or inhibited; he digs his fingers into the backs of Yashiro's thighs and Yashiro doesn't even have to ask.

Yashiro feels dizzy at his strength, and how he holds it in. The way he pulls Yashiro down against him as he rocks up. Yashiro maps Doumeki's torso with his hands and sighs into his mouth.

"Fuck me," he whispers. "Please, I need it."

Doumeki hums his assent against Yashiro's lips. Yashiro moves to sit up, to get off him, but Doumeki keeps his hands where they are. He winds up straddling Doumeki's hips with his hands braced on his chest. Doumeki gazes up at him with that look Yashiro knows so well.

"Like this," Doumeki says, and Yashiro doesn't move.

They haven't—he's never—

Doumeki loosens his grip and strokes over Yashiro's hipbone with his thumb. "Is that okay?"

Haltingly, Yashiro nods.

Doumeki caresses his face, touches his thumb to Yashiro's lips in an imitation of a kiss. His hand slides down the side of Yashiro's neck, his chest, his stomach. He pauses at the juncture of Yashiro's hip, as though meaning to move between his legs.

"I don't need—" Yashiro starts. "It's fine," he says, thinking he's probably still loose enough from last night. And if—if they're going to do this, he'd like it to burn. 

Doumeki accepts this and reaches for the drawer, for supplies. Yashiro takes the condom from his hands and puts it on Doumeki himself, then does the same with the lube. Doumeki watches him with a focus that suggests he's committing every motion to memory.

The push inside, when it starts, is different. It's different directing it. There's the stretch he was after, but he also feels more open, somehow. Normally he can feel his body trying to force the intrusion out even as it pushes in; now, it feels natural, and his hips move into it on their own. 

Doumeki is silent, save for his heavy breaths. His eyes flicker over Yashiro's body but keep coming back to his face. His hands move in soothing circles over Yashiro's lower abdomen and thighs.

Yashiro feels more on display than when he's had a whole room fucking him. 

He bottoms out and shifts his hips just slightly, adjusting. Doumeki lies completely still, even the movement of his hands stalling, as Yashiro lifts up and brings himself back down. And again. Yashiro leans forward and his cock slides against Doumeki's stomach with the next rise and fall. He feels the thud of Doumeki's heartbeat beneath his hands.

The urge to speak comes, and he quells it, focusing instead on how Doumeki is watching him, almost reverent. His gaze feels heavy and makes Yashiro feel weightless.

His hips begin to move on their own in an instinctive rhythm. He reaches for Doumeki's hand, pulls it to his chest, his stomach, until Doumeki starts to move it himself, sliding over Yashiro's skin, as his other comes to hold Yashiro's where it's braced over his heart.

Doumeki adjusts his weight beneath him and starts to meet him at every fall; Yashiro gasps at the new pace, at the audible slap of skin on skin, how stark it seems in this morning quiet. He leans close into Doumeki, chasing the quickening drag of his cock on his abdomen. Doumeki's mouth opens soundlessly. His grip tightens on Yashiro's hand and his hip.

And then he's groaning, and his hips falter, pump irregularly into Yashiro, who starts to fall forward and catches himself with his free hand on Doumeki's shoulder. Doumeki's movement stutters and stills.

"Did you—" Yashiro starts, but Doumeki looks so surprised at himself that Yashiro laughs, and knows he has his answer.

Doumeki sits up, red-faced, seemingly unaware of how this jostles Yashiro in his lap; he shivers slightly at the internal and external stimulation.

"I'm sorry, Boss, I didn't—I couldn't—"

Yashiro wraps his arms around his neck and leans into him. "It's fine, dumbass," he says, and kisses him, still smiling.

Doumeki returns the kiss carefully, thoroughly, like an extension of his apology. He holds Yashiro close with a hand at the small of his back. His other hand comes between their bodies to jerk Yashiro off. His grip is light at first but tightens as Yashiro kisses him harder, and soon Yashiro is moaning into his mouth as his cock pulses between them.

He buries his face in Doumeki's neck as his breathing slows to a normal pace and his heartbeat levels out. Doumeki's lips press against his shoulder, just briefly. His hands smooth over Yashiro's thighs, his back.

The moment passes. Yashiro inches back and finds Doumeki's eyes.

"Good morning," he says, and feels the smile won't leave his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> [come talk to me about saezuru on tumblr](http://doumekichikara.tumblr.com/) :^)


End file.
